


A Rotten Addiction

by kittykittyhunter



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Gen, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23743486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykittyhunter/pseuds/kittykittyhunter
Summary: Izaya tries to help Shizuo ditch a bad habit.
Relationships: Heiwajima Shizuo & Orihara Izaya
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	A Rotten Addiction

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a _Durarara!!_ event on tumblr! This idea's been bobbing around my head for a while.

“Izaya!” Heiwajima Shizuo marched across the road and headbutted his nemesis, attempting to inflict a concussion through the force of his terrific brow alone. He snarled, “How many times have I told you to stay out of Ikebukuro?”

The flea shrugged, hands buried in his pockets. “I lost count, Shizu-chan. You have the horrible habit of saying the same thing over and over again. You could try changing it up. It’s so boring.”

Shizuo growled. The sound was ominous, primal. Izaya’s eyes flashed and he leant back, breaking contact, creating distance between them. He said, “Speaking of filthy habits, I thought that you could use _this_.”

He slapped Shizuo’s face and sprang away with a cheerful wave. It took Izaya mere seconds to disappear into the city’s maze of bright, monolithic buildings. Shizuo did not immediately give chase. He cautiously touched his left cheek. Izaya had stuck something there. Dread weaving into his wrath, Shizuo slipped his nails under the thing, started at its silken texture, and peeled off –

A… nicotine patch?

Shizuo’s nose was never wrong. He smelt a familiar stench a few days later, hovering by the entrance of an arcade. He came to a stop and Tanaka Tom, who had been walking beside him, sighed wearily and said that he’d amuse himself with crane games while Shizuo took care of business. The bodyguard scooped up enough composure to tip his chin in his employer’s direction. He turned on one heel and stalked to wherever Izaya was, blood frothing.

He found Izaya loitering around two streets away, expression passive as he scrolled through a green phone. Shizuo threw a trash can and Izaya whirled on the spot, evading the attack without turning his attention from the screen. He was a spindly, wiry little nuisance. Shizuo looked forward to wringing his neck.

Shizuo plucked a traffic sign from the sidewalk and flew at Izaya. The phone finally disappeared into the fur-trimmed jacket and Izaya armed himself with several knives. Shizuo swung, aiming to bring the scarlet STOP sign down on Izaya’s temple; the flea blocked the strike with a blade, arm nearly buckling under the weight of all that metal. Izaya grinned and Shizuo changed tactic. He drew back two paces and hurled the sign instead. A flurry of knives sliced the air like bullets, shredding Shizuo’s makeshift weapon.

“I have work to do,” Izaya called, saluting sloppily. “Catch you later, Shizu-chan!”

He ran. Shizuo followed, tearing up blazing streetlights and throwing them at Izaya. Some nearly hit him. Nearly. Izaya demonstrated his usual irritating athleticism, somersaulting free of the onslaught, scaling sheer walls, bouncing across rooftops, tiptoeing along billboards with the ease of a tightrope walker. Every so often, he peeked over one shoulder and flung knives behind him. They could have been made of plastic for how easily Shizuo snapped them between his fingers or teeth.

At last, they came to a bridge overlooking a shopping district. Swathes of night life swarmed below, loud laughter and raucous voices floating into the darkness. Rage pulsed in Shizuo’s throat. Only a few feet separated him from Izaya. It was time. He crossed the space in an instant and gripped Izaya’s top, hoisting the shorter man aloft.

Izaya’s face was burning with mirth. Unease writhed in Shizuo’s stomach. He raised one fist, preparing to send it crashing into that smug face. Izaya’s hand shot out and Shizuo vaguely noted a tickling sensation; a moment later, he understood that a knife tip had cruised along his shirt. He glanced down. Izaya had cut away the fabric covering Shizuo’s right arm without nicking his skin. From anyone else, it would have been impressive, but from Izaya it was –

_WHACK!_

Izaya slapped another nicotine patch onto Shizuo’s bicep.

The bodyguard smiled sweetly. “Izaya-kun,” he stretched out each syllable, “what the hell is this?”

“Surely you’re not that stupid? Don’t you recognise nicotine patches, Shizu-chan?” Shizuo shook Izaya impatiently; the flea rolled his eyes and went on, “Smoking’s gross! Saggy skin, yellow fingers, bad teeth, hair loss – not to mention _wrinkles_.” Izaya shuddered. “You might be okay with ageing prematurely, but I’ll be twenty-one forever!”

“You’re not twenty-one now, you moron. And what,” Shizuo’s chest heaved. He had to start again. “What has any of that got to do with you?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Sparks danced in Izaya’s pupils. “I realised how disappointed I’d be if cancer finished you off before I did, Shizu-chan. Now,” he raised one palm, warding off the ensuing punch, “you can either waste your time up here, or you can deal with the ruckus down there. Those poor girls will be mugged unless a brave soul intervenes.”

Despising Izaya, despising himself, Shizuo redirected his gaze. Some kind of commotion was playing down below: a horde of older men were forming a circle around a group of quivering teenagers. Shizuo’s grip loosened and he allowed Izaya to drop onto the concrete. The flea brushed himself off, adding pleasantly, “We should set up an appointment to discuss your anger management issues. How’s next Wednesday?”

Shizuo swore and made a rude gesture. He launched himself from the bridge. Landing neatly on the asphalt, he drove his foot into a would-be mugger’s skull.

Izaya draped himself along the iron railings, smiling as he watched Shizuo whirl through the ungainly men, bruising them and snapping their bones. What a brute. It would probably be a good thing to encourage tar to coat the monster’s lungs, damaging his breathing capacity and overall stamina. A very neat and convenient solution to Izaya’s biggest problem.

One of his phones buzzed. He threw a peace sign at Shizuo and got back to work.

Kishitani Shinra huffed at the sight of his blood-soaked former schoolmate (Shinra was loath to think of him as a friend on such occasions). “You have the worst timing,” the doctor complained, stepping aside so that Shizuo could enter the apartment, “Celty and I were settling down to watch a movie.”

Knowing Shinra, that left two options: either a grotesque horror show containing multiple autopsies (Shinra would probably complain about the villain’s inefficiency during every single procedure) or a sappy love story that was just… sappy. Convinced that he had saved Celty either way, Shizuo shuffled into the living room and dropped onto the sofa. The pyjama-clad transporter gave – what he imagined was – a bemused grin. Her fingers moved rapidly across her phone. She held it up, asking, _Rough night?_

“No more than usual,” Shizuo grunted. He droned through the long and boring story while Shinra flitted about, using tweezers to remove steel shards from Shizuo’s skin and wrapping up the worst wounds. When he got to Shizuo’s arm, Shinra prodded the nicotine patch, interrupting the tale with a curious,

“What’s this?”

Shizuo tipped his head back and said to the ceiling, “Izaya wants me to quit smoking.”

_EXCUSE ME?_

“That’s… very thoughtful of him,” said Shinra, for once dumbfounded. Squinting, he added, “Why?”

“Something about wanting to kill me before cancer does. It was stupid. Probably a distraction from whatever underhand crap he’s got going on.” Shizuo sat up, stretching. He rolled his shoulders and began to reach for the cigarettes inside his waistcoat. He stopped when he noticed that both Celty and Shinra were staring at him intently. Shizuo ventured, “What?”

Celty spoke first. _He has a point, you know. Not that smoking is an option for me, but the list of diseases it can cause is horrifically long._

“There’s other side effects to consider, too,” Shinra chimed in. “Given the fact that it dulls your senses, I’m amazed that you can sniff out Orihara-kun so effectively.”

“That’s because he stinks,” said Shizuo. “A very unique stink. I could smell that damned flea a mile off. Anyway. Why’re you two so concerned?”

“Hmm… to think that _Orihara-kun_ is taking more of an interest in your health than I do…”

Celty flicked Shinra with her thumb and forefinger; he spiralled to the floor in mock agony. Ignoring the despairing doctor, Celty said, _You could think about it. We’ll help you, if you want to stop_.

Shizuo scratched his jaw. It wasn’t an issue that he’d given much thought to – and the last thing he wanted was to implement a lifestyle change at Orihara Izaya’s suggestion. He was confident that Izaya was half the reason he’d started smoking in the first place. And, yeah. That thing about managing anger. The nicotine dulled a tiny part of Shizuo’s ire. It was no big deal.

Then Celty delivered the fatal blow:

 _I think your brother would be happy_.

Oh.

First, Shizuo simply passed his last packet of Blue American Spirits to Tom and announced that he was done. “You might find it tough,” Tom said, reading the back of the small box. “Most people can’t really quit cold turkey. Are you using patches?”

Shizuo scoffed. “Don’t need ’em.”

That was it. He was Heiwajima Shizuo and the last thing he needed was help from the flea. He could do anything he put his mind to. If he wanted to stop, he could stop. Job done. Finished. He was a man of great mental fortitude as well as incredible strength. This was easy. A piece of cake. A piece of –

Later that afternoon, Shizuo sent six people to hospital. They’d all deserved it, but he played with the button on his shirt cuff, nevertheless.

His friends jumped in, eager to be helpful. Tom made him drop a few hundred yen into a jar whenever the bodyguard lit up. Conditioning, apparently. Shinra and Celty supplied more nicotine patches, each one inscribed with an encouraging message (thankfully, Celty took over the writing – Shizuo had seen Shinra’s scrawls in the past and snorted at the doctor’s stereotypically illegible scrawl). 

And it turned out that Celty was right. When Shizuo next spoke to Kasuka on the phone, the younger Heiwajima was surprised by his brother’s resolution, but quietly pleased. He sent Shizuo a parcel filled with apple-flavoured chewing gum, neatly wrapped in brown paper.

He came across the flea a month later.

Shizuo’s first instinct would have been to bash Izaya, but two factors prevented him from taking up the offensive: one, he was in a good mood since Celty’s recent present was sitting in his pocket; two, Izaya was being trailed by a couple of high school kids and, judging by the shapes of their faces, the trio were related. He didn’t need to pulverise Izaya in front of his little sisters. Shizuo jerked his chin, indicating that he was satisfied with calling a temporary truce and Izaya – stupid, bloody Izaya – snubbed the ceasefire and waltzed over, identical sisters in tow.

“It’s been a while,” he beamed, features jovial. “How’re things, Shizu-chan?”

In response, Shizuo withdrew the e-cigarette, pulled at one end with his mouth and calmly blew a white cloud into Izaya’s face.

One of the girls mumbled, “Smells nice.”

“Smells like a patisserie,” said Izaya, disgusted. “What the hell is that?”

“Strawberries and cream,” Shizuo replied, enjoying his enemy’s discomfort. Shizuo drew one foot back, preparing to send his heel into Izaya’s throat – the flea was patting down his pockets, making a production of searching for a switchblade, no doubt. Shizuo decided that he’d retaliate, sisters or no sisters.

In the background, one of the twins held up her fists behind her brother’s back, her gaze locked on Shizuo’s.

At last, Izaya said, “The research might be inconclusive right now, but it’ll probably find that stuff’s just as bad for you. There’s no point in kicking one disgusting habit and replacing it with another. Try these instead.”

He threw a packet of chewing gum to Shizuo. The bodyguard’s fingers closed around the gift. He stared, flummoxed, recognising the green packaging. “Don’t let me down, Shizu-chan!” Izaya called, wildly waving his arms. “I’ll check in and see how you’re doing!”

He skipped off. Shizuo stood there, numbly wondering if there was a way of weaning Izaya off his rotten personality.


End file.
